


Gonna Make You Sweat, Gonna Make You Groove

by ladivvinatravestia



Category: Fantastic Four (Movies 2005-2007), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Branding, Cameo appearances by other characters, Casual Sex, Consensual Sex, M/M, Party Like It's 1999, Period-Typical Homophobia, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladivvinatravestia/pseuds/ladivvinatravestia
Summary: December 31, 1999, Bern, Switzerland.  Johnny Storm and the Winter Soldier hook up at a party.  Johnny thinks the Soldier is a bit weirdly intense; the Soldier can’t figure out why Johnny seems so familiar.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Johnny Storm
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30
Collections: Marvel Ship Roulette





	Gonna Make You Sweat, Gonna Make You Groove

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ты взмокнешь, словишь кайф](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232117) by [Melarissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melarissa/pseuds/Melarissa)

> Thanks to [cloudycelebrations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudycelebrations/profile) for excellent beta services.
> 
> For Marvel Ship Roulette.
> 
> This is not a Hydra Trash Party fic, but there is a trash party going on next door, their music is pretty loud, and you can hear it through the walls. All of the sex that happens on screen is consensual, but there is referenced/background dub-con Alexander Pierce/Bucky Barnes; referenced non-con; referenced Winter Soldier trauma umbrella; references to AIDS epidemic.

The Soldier’s mission, tonight, is to keep a discreet eye on Councilman Pierce, and be ready to whisk him away to safety in the apparently likely event that chaos descends at midnight because computers can’t tell the difference between 1900 and 2000. His only backup, or perhaps his only handler, for this mission, is Brock Rumlow, newly recruited to Hydra after mustering out of the Army. Since the Soldier’s obedience and loyalty are not in question, it’s possible that the mission is, in fact, a test of Rumlow’s abilities.

Right now, though, there are still several hours to go until midnight, so as long as between the two of them they’re keeping half an eye on Mr. Pierce, they’re left to their own devices. For the Soldier, this means assessing the people who interact with Mr. Pierce as potential threats, and always keeping track of his fastest route to get Mr. Pierce to an exit. For Rumlow, this means assessing every woman at the party for fuckability and then attempting to elicit the Soldier’s evaluation of the same woman. Hmm. Maybe Rumlow hasn’t been introduced to all of Hydra’s customs yet. Well, if he hasn’t, the Soldier isn’t about to volunteer the information.

“Her, for example,” says Rumlow, using the drink in his hand to gesture to a woman with long, straight blonde hair, smiling politely at Mr. Pierce. Her full-skirted strapless ballgown and high-heeled sandals do not look very practical for fighting in, but she could be hiding weapons in the skirt and the heels of the sandals could serve as an impromptu weapon in a pinch. “That’s Sue Storm. The Invisible Woman? I wonder if she turned invisible while you were fucking her if you would see -”

The Soldier tunes him out. Next to Ms. Storm is a tall, square-jawed man with short blond hair, in conventional male evening dress. The Soldier is well-acquainted with how many weapons can be hidden in such attire, which leaves him to observe that the man is very handsome, and also, strangely familiar.

“Huh? Oh, that’s her brother, Johnny. The Human Torch or something. He sets things on fire,” says Rumlow. The Soldier does not see what is so special about that; he sets things on fire all the time to destroy evidence.

“Have we had a mission with them,” says the Soldier. He hates having to ask. If he could just be - not so erratic - more compliant - he wouldn’t have to have his memories wiped so often.

Rumlow scoffs. “If we had, don’t you think I’d be over there chatting her up?”

The Soldier resumes his observation of Johnny Storm. His facial features seem familiar, but the way he’s grinning at the brunette on his arm is - not. That face should be much more serious.

“Ohh, you like her,” says Rumlow.

Her? Right, this started because Rumlow was looking at the sister. “No,” says the Soldier.

“What? Oh,” says Rumlow. “Ohh,” he adds, in a more knowing tone, dancing in front of the Soldier. “You like _ him _.”

“I find him, as you put it earlier, fuckable,” says the Soldier. This is not normally the type of opinion the Soldier is encouraged to have, or share, but if Rumlow hasn’t been properly briefed on how to handle the Soldier, that is not the Soldier’s problem.

A slow, sly smile spreads across Rumlow’s face. “Councilman Pierce know you’re a cocksucker?” he asks.

Considering that the Soldier was sucking Pierce’s cock earlier this evening? “Yes,” says the Soldier.

While Rumlow is processing this, the Soldier switches his attention back to Pierce, who has moved on to socialize with a different crowd of party-goers. He can’t let himself get distracted from the actual mission by a familiar face, fuckable or no.

But now Rumlow is pointing out select other party-goers. “Hey,” he says, indicating a tall, pale person with straight dark hair, in an impeccably-tailored black suit and a soft green scarf. “Is he fuckable? Wait, I’m not even sure that’s a man.”

As the Soldier is considering why the person’s status as a man or not would affect their fuckability, Rumlow points to another person, this time more definitely a man - not quite as tall, in a white and gold plastic top hat and dark glasses, with a well-manicured goatee. He is now arm-in-arm with the brunette who’d previously been on Storm’s arm.

“That’s Tony Stark, he made a sex tape with some guy Ty Stone? Or, uh, I heard he did, I don’t watch that homo shit. You could fuck him.”

This time, the name sounds familiar, although the face is less so.

“Have we had a mission with him,” asks the Soldier.

Rumlow’s eyes widen a fraction of a millimetre and there’s a hitch in his breath. His heart rate increases. “No,” he lies.

Now that’s interesting. The Soldier takes a sip of his drink while maintaining deliberate eye contact with Rumlow, which is, as he hopes, sufficient to signal to Rumlow that he’s been caught in his lie.

“So Johnny Storm,” says Rumlow, clearly intending to sidetrack the Soldier.

“Who we have not had a mission with,” says the Soldier. He really shouldn’t. With any other handler, this level of independent thought, of insubordination, would definitely lead to swift and sure discipline. But if Rumlow’s abilities as a handler are being tested, shouldn’t the Soldier be testing him?

“Who you think is fuckable,” Rumlow corrects him.

“Yes,” the Soldier agrees. He checks on Mr. Pierce once more, now deep in conversation with a circle of his fellow dignitaries, before scanning the crowd to locate Storm.

“Tell you what,” says Rumlow, leaning closer to the Soldier’s ear. He already smells drunk. “I dare you to go over there and pick him up.”

The Soldier looks at him. It’s not an order. In fact, a dare is something more like a suggestion that Rumlow thinks he can’t or won’t do it. The Soldier is not supposed to abandon a mission partway through for personal purposes, even if he intends to return. The Soldier is not supposed to _ have _ personal purposes. But. It is also likely that Rumlow will be punished for letting the Soldier depart from so many of his standard operating procedures, and the Soldier has to admit to himself he will find that quite gratifying, even if he winds up having to endure punishment himself as well. He hands his drink to Rumlow and strides efficiently through the crowd, which parts obligingly for him.

Soon, though, Rumlow is skipping after him and getting in his path.

“I don’t mean ‘pick him up’ like ‘lift him off the ground,” he clarifies. The Soldier fixes Rumlow with a dead-eyed stare. He knew that. “I mean, ‘get him to have sex with you.”

The Soldier notices Storm looking at him and making “Is that guy bothering you?” motions. For some reason, that seems even more familiar.

“Do you have a rubber,” he asks Rumlow .

Rumlow rolls his eyes, curses the Soldier, digs in his back pocket, slaps a rubber packet into the Soldier’s outstretched palm, and stalks off.

~~

Johnny first notices Weirdly Intense Guy when he and Sue are stuck making nice with some member of the World Security Council or something. Johnny doesn’t really give a fuck about politicians, but he did promise Reed and Sue he would spend at least some of his time making nice with movers and shakers at this party, because something, something, Victor von Doom. Johnny wasn’t paying attention. He just sets things on fire.

His evening starts to look more interesting when Tony Stark comes up to talk to him and Dr. Hansen - hey, if Johnny plays his cards right, maybe he can have a threesome - but then Stark and Dr. Hansen start talking about plant genetics or something, and Johnny can’t fake enough interest or understanding to keep up. That’s okay, there are lots of other people at this party for him to hook up with.

Like Weirdly Intense Guy, who is now prowling across the crowded room towards him like a jaguar intent on its prey, and Johnny never realized it was possible to feel both scared and horny at the same time before. He’s stopped in his tracks by his buddy, the one who was creeping on Sue from a distance earlier. Weirdly Intense Guy looks somewhere between amused and annoyed, and Johnny makes motions at him to check if he’s okay.

But then Weirdly Intense Guy escapes Creepy Buddy and makes his way to where Johnny is waiting to intercept him near one of the wet bars, and it’s game time.

“Hi,” says Johnny, grinning his most charming grin. “I’m Johnny Storm.” He holds out his hand.

Weirdly Intense Guy takes his hand, shakes it firmly, and says, in a much quieter voice than Johnny might have expected, “Hi.”

Okay, so he’s the strong, silent type. And his name tag reads “James Winters”, which is so laughably fake and obviously a code name that - but then again, the name on Johnny’s birth certificate is Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm, so. James Winters.

“I’m not a scientist,” Johnny says, perhaps unnecessarily.

“Neither am I,” says James. No, with his build, hidden though it is by his suit jacket, and the way he carries himself, he’s probably someone’s bodyguard. He licks his lips and flicks his eyes down to glance at Johnny’s shoes.

“Nice boots,” he says, and Johnny has hooked up with enough goths to know that the second half of that sentence is, “wanna fuck?”

Johnny steps in a little closer. “Wanna go someplace a little more private?” he suggests.

Up close, James is not so much Weirdly Intense as he is like a stray dog that’s more used to being kicked than being petted. His eyes look sort of sad and lost. Hopefully, he won’t want to share his tragic back story with Johnny before they fuck. As they’re heading toward the elevator, James looks back at Creepy Buddy with something like defiance or triumph in his eyes. Then, Johnny sees World Security Council guy giving James an approving nod, like James is his employee, or his son, or, oh, god, his sugar baby. Can Johnny un-think that now?

The elevator is over-crowded with other party guests, loud and already drunk, and James looks twitchy. When Johnny lets them into his hotel room (see, Reed, _ this _ is why it wouldn’t have worked to share a suite) James scrutinizes all the corners and peers behind doors and curtains with a knife. Johnny is just starting to wonder if he needs to politely un-invite James from the hookup before it starts when James announces,

“Always know where all your exits are,” and shucks his suit jacket. He’s wearing a couple of guns in a shoulder holster, but he is also at least as well-muscled as he looked fully clothed. Johnny gets a little distracted fantasizing about how his ankles will look thrown over those shoulders but he manages to get his own jacket off anyway. Meanwhile, James is silently and methodically removing his shoes and his pants, and with them, an improbable number of knives. Johnny wonders if he should be concerned about that, but his dick reminds him to shut up and think later. He also decides, for the sake of his own peace of mind, that James’ relationship to Security Council Guy is bodyguard, and bodyguard only, even if he is currently neglecting his duties.

When he’s down to just his dress shirt and briefs, James lowers himself onto the bed and arranges himself in an inviting position, legs slightly apart. From this angle, Johnny can see that what he mistook for boxer briefs are actually something black, satiny, and trimmed with lace. Shit, James was wearing _ that _ the whole time under his suit at the party? Johnny was hot to trot before, but now he’s rock hard.

James puts his left hand behind his head and flicks his eyes up and down Johnny’s body, licking his lips, like he does this often. His pupils are dark. Johnny sheds the rest of his clothes as quickly as he can. When he climbs on the bed, he expects, maybe hopes, that James will flip him over, pin him to the mattress, and take him like he’s the heroine of some trashy romance novel.

But instead, when Johnny hands him the lube, James shimmies out of his briefs and starts using the lube to slide the fingers of his right hand into his own ass. That was definitely not the way Johnny saw this encounter going, but he’s never been one to back down from a challenge. Grinning, he slips on the condom that James left out for him and then runs his hand up the back of James’ leg. Hairless, huh. James hasn’t made any move to take off his own shirt. Johnny _ could _ start unbuttoning it, but he’s not that big on accidentally crossing the boundaries of someone who casually wears so many knives and guns. And that’s fine, he looks perfectly sexy as is. Those shoulders, god damn.

Still, no harm in checking in one more time before they get going. “You sure about this?” he asks.

James appears to give it genuine consideration before grinding his ass back into Johnny’s hand. “Yes,” he says. 

~~

To the Soldier’s surprise, Johnny fucks him not like he’s just some hole to be used, but like a lover, with kisses and caresses. His skin is almost fever-hot and he spouts a constant stream of endearments and compliments. The strange sense of familiarity fades, leaving the Soldier to revel in the decadent physical sensation of Johnny having used enough lube, the warmth coming off of his body easing the slide of their bodies against each other even further. He can’t really remember the last time he got this well fucked without having to worry about immediate punishment or correction. He arches into Johnny’s touch, enjoying the heated sensation as Johnny sets a steady pace thrusting into him, slowing only occasionally to curse about how gorgeous the Soldier’s ass is and to catch his breath. Johnny’s body temperature increases alarmingly as he nears his climax, and as he’s coming, his hands grow so hot against the Soldier’s sides that they start to feel cold instead. The Soldier isn’t that close to his own climax, but he throws back his head and takes a deep breath, drinking in the pure sensation.

Johnny finishes, and slumps on top of the Soldier for a few moments, breathing heavily - but evenly, some instinctual part of the Soldier observes. Why should that be important? The Soldier brings his right hand up to run it through Johnny’s sweat-drenched hair and Johnny grins. Then he pushes back, gingerly pulls himself out, and slides the rubber off his dick. As he’s tying it off, though, it bursts, splattering come all over both of them and the bedclothes. Johnny makes a face. He clearly wasn’t expecting that.

“Heat ruins latex,” the Soldier tells him.

“Shit,” says Johnny, tossing the ruined rubber aside and wiping come off his face with the back of his hand. “That doesn’t usually happen. Listen, I tested negative last month, but you might maybe want to get tested just to be sure.”

The Soldier feels certain that if he were a carrier for any sexually-transmitted infections, he would have heard about it by now - and he might not be expected to provide sexual services quite so often, to so many people. Still, he makes a noise of agreement. This is not the kind of thing to risk blowing his cover on.

On that note - he’s lucky that Johnny didn’t want him to take his shirt off, but now the Soldier is curious. He pulls up his shirt to inspect his sides. There, he sees two full hand prints, seared red into his skin, and he twists to admire them.

“Oh, shit,” says Johnny. “Does - uh, doesn’t that hurt? We should find a doctor to look at you.”

“No,” says the Soldier, reaching out for Johnny’s hand so he can fit it back over the mark it made. “I like it.” Later, he will have to decide what to tell Councilman Pierce during the inevitable debrief, but for now, he can both be truthful and say what is most likely to keep the encounter going.

“Huh,” says Johnny, running his thumb over the edge of the mark. Some sensation is starting to return, and the light touch makes the Soldier shiver. “Let me make it up to you,” Johnny adds, licking his lips.

He slides down the bed, grinning up at the Soldier, until he’s at a level to draw the Soldier’s dick into his mouth with his tongue. The Soldier gasps in surprise and Johnny _ winks _ at him. The Soldier lays back, unsure what to do with his hands. He can not recall having ever been the recipient of a blow job before. Where being fucked feels good because he’s being filled up and controlled, getting blown is like a direct connection from his dick to the pleasure centre in his brain. It’s almost too much.

When the Soldier is giving a blow job to his superiors, he likes to be grabbed by the hair and steered around a bit, but Johnny’s hair is too close-cropped to grab. And, heat aside, he’d favored a tender touch with the Soldier. The Soldier settles for running his right hand over Johnny’s cheek. Johnny makes an approving humming noise that goes straight to the base of the Soldier’s dick. He thrusts up into Johnny’s mouth, chasing the feeling, and Johnny trails two fingers teasingly along the Soldier’s perineum towards his ass.

“Please,” the Soldier breathes, and Johnny slides his fingers into the Soldier’s ass, still pleasantly sore from being fucked. It’s not the same as being filled with a dick, but his fingers are more nimble and brush against the Soldier’s prostate with greater precision, sparking bright bursts of pleasure with every touch. Belatedly, the Solder realizes that he can have a say in how this encounter goes.

“Be -” he starts. He’s not that used to speaking much; it’s even more difficult when he’s so aroused, but he tries. “Be - hot - inside,” he manages.

Johnny pulls back with both his mouth and his fingers and the Soldier props himself up on his elbows, frowning. This is the _ opposite _ of what he wanted.

“Be hot inside,” Johnny repeats. “You mean, you want -” he breaks off, but the hand whose fingers had been inside the Soldier bursts into flame. So _ that’s _ what Rumlow had meant when he said Johnny sets things on fire.

“Not _ that _ much,” the Soldier says.

Johnny grins, shakes his head, and the flame goes out. “Like this?” he asks, reaching out to touch the hand prints branded into the Soldier’s side. The Soldier is disappointed to find it’s already healing over a little, but he nods. Johnny shakes his head again, laughing a little. “Okay, man,” he says. “But you gotta let me know if it’s too much, if you want me to stop. Safe word is ‘flame off’.”

He adds more lube to slide his fingers back in and lowers his head, still meeting the Soldier’s eyes. The Soldier catches a glimpse of Johnny’s tongue and has to squeeze his eyes shut. A third finger brings overwhelming pressure and heat and suddenly he can’t get enough. The Soldier feels so full he can concentrate on nothing but Johnny’s fingers and his gloriously hot mouth. He digs his heels into the mattress, trying to draw the burn in as deep as he can.

“You know,” says Johnny, between a few especially long, dripping sucks, “I’m really glad you’re getting a kick like this. Most people can’t take my heat so well.”

The Soldier briefly contemplates the meaning behind these words, but soon he’s lost to the ecstasy of Johnny’s tongue and fingers again. The thrusting heat feels like heaven as Johnny’s palm brushes against his balls with each movement. When his climax hits, it’s like his whole body is on fire.

After taking a few moments to recover his breath and his wits, the Soldier rolls off the bed and digs in the pocket of his suit jacket for the packet of wet wipes he stashed there earlier for cleanup.

“Do you, uh, want a shower or anything?” asks Johnny. He sits up, scrubbing a hand through the smears of drying come on his chest.

The Soldier stops to consider. He has Johnny’s pubic hairs all over his thighs, lube everywhere, and he’s covered in the sweat of two men, one of whom was literally on fire. Drops of sticky come are drying on his legs from the snapped condom. He _ could _ have a nice, hot shower, something that is usually a rare treat for him. But he could also go back to the party and his mission with hand prints still branded into his sides and another place burned so deep inside it feels like not even the cryo chamber will be able to erase its memory. Go back to the party smelling like sex so Rumlow knows he won the dare. 

“Not necessary,” he says, shaking his head. Cleanup achieved, he proceeds to dress and re-arm himself. Johnny watches him, bemused.

“Okay, man,” he says, like he thinks the Soldier is making the wrong decision. This makes the Soldier even more determined not to take a shower. The rarest treat of all is getting to make his own decisions. He shrugs back into his suit jacket and shifts his muscles so his gun harness and knives lie flat and concealed underneath the formal wear. Thankfully the jacket covers the worst of the come smears, but the Soldier knows they’re there.

Johnny gets out of the bed and pads over to the door of the room, naked. Whoever it is that the Soldier thinks Johnny reminds him of, it’s clear to him now that it must be a different person entirely. One lacking the confidence in his own good looks that Johnny so clearly has in spades. 

“Thanks for coming up,” he says, giving the Soldier an appreciative once-over. “Best fuck of the whole millennium.”

“You too,” says the Soldier, and ducks out into the hallway. As he makes his way back to the ballroom, he can still feel Johnny’s hand prints heating up his sides. He’s been burned many times before, so he knows these will fade all too soon, but for now, at least, he can enjoy the pain radiating from the marks Johnny left behind.

~~

James might be willing to go back to the party after a quick cleanup with wet wipes, but Johnny definitely needs a shower. As he stands under the warm spray, stretching his sore muscles and letting the stall steam up a bit, he replays the hookup in his mind. It had been much hotter than he’d expected, and he doesn’t even mean that as a pun. James had been way more into Johnny using his super powers for sex purposes than Johnny would have thought. Especially after he accidentally gave James what looked like second-degree burns while they were fucking. But, oddly, James seemed to really like that, even asked for more. Maybe he had some kind of secret healing superpower, or high pain tolerance, or something? Johnny’s met a lot of weirdos since he got pulled into the superhero business, but he hasn’t ended up with his dick in any of them before. Maybe as well as being one of his first hookups with a guy, James was his first superhero hookup? Is that why the sex was so good?

As he’s in the elevator (still crowded) heading back down to the party, Johnny is still thinking about James. Johnny has sort of only just realized that he’s attracted to men as well as women, but he’s already learning that there’s a lot of different ways to do it. Although it could be fun, he doesn’t have to be flamboyant and covered in glitter all the time like Elton John. He could be smooth and charismatic like Tony Stark. He could be skinny and dweeby like that Swedish geneticist guy, and why, exactly, are there so many different geneticists at this party anyway? He could be all masculine on the outside like James, while secretly wearing silky underwear. He doesn’t have to change at all, he can just keep being himself. This new millennium is looking up after all.

Back in the main ballroom, Johnny takes a few moments to re-orient himself. James has gone back to lurking in the corner with his creepy buddy, just as though nothing had happened at all. Reed and Sue are now arm in arm and - ugh - talking to Security Council Guy again. Reed catches his eye and waves him over, but when Security Council Guy follows Reed’s line of sight and nods cordially at Johnny, Johnny inexplicably feels the hackles on the back of his neck rise. It’s weird, because he looks like nothing so much as somebody’s nice grandpa, but Johnny suddenly has a bad feeling. He decides to pretend he didn’t see any of them, turning instead to grab a champagne flute from a passing waiter and then introducing himself to the next attractive person he sees, a beautiful woman with long dark hair in a yellow and red hanbok. Her nametag reads “Dr. Helen Cho.”

“Hi, I’m Johnny Storm,” he says, sticking out his hand to shake and grinning his most charming smile. “I’m not a scientist.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Joke’s on Johnny, Helen is, of course, also a geneticist.
> 
> Please visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ladivvinatravestia), where my ask box is always open for prompts.


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